Sunday, May 29, 2016

the machination buddha.

a realm of chance opens itself slowly before you.
allow this. though by chance, the
center of the universe shares itself with you. in turn,
this is yourself opening and exploring.
allow yourself to follow your desires.
they are constellations before you, seeming to move slowly- though, at times, in great
unneeded bursts of violence.
these are reflections of your mind. know this, and address
as many reflections of the mind as possible.

seemingly by intuition, you are warned of the tumultuous war
grinding against itself within a location you fail to find on your own.
you travel a desert for days. without water, you begin to die of thirst.
you continue onward, replacing your thirst for water with a lust
for scavenging soldiers killed during the war you cannot find,
while balancing
pacifying yourself with the luxuries of the status quo.

this pacifying is an impulse. slowly work your way from it
while understanding
you, indeed, have learned from it.
the only way you will work away from it is if you have, indeed,
learned from it.

your conscious mind convinces itself it is
a pulling transition toward a revolutionary insistence- as revolution
is in and of all living beings. revolution
is the most unrelenting yet gently providing teacher.

you are disgusted and reproaching upon reminders of stagnations
as such reminds you how easily willing some are
to cling to history though history is dead.
you want the others whom you other
to think how you do.
you wish to never put an end to your analyzing of your manifold environments.
you wish only for your analyzing. this is how you shape your interpretation of growth.
through your analyzing is is how you fight with your environments.

there will be an intrusion- one tremendously confusing,
you will be welcoming of this intrusion.
do not fight this. you must learn from your feelings
and protect them with a bravery of facing them.

this will happen repeatedly. choose to grow
as ill-fitting a choice it may sometimes seem.

you are now entering a pool of blood.
you are now the human being you've dreamed yourself
into being,
though you've become stunted.
you are to make attempts at teaching your body
as opposed to allowing your body to teach you.
you're scared. you react to your fear with understanding death prematurely
throughout all you do. it does not occur to you
that you are making attempts at teaching your fear (and all from which it breeds) as opposed to allowing
your fear to teach you.
you become a disease as that is how diseases become of us.
you become inert.

in your mind, gloomy, black baobab trees of manifold extremities
are hit by ancient, destructively blind bats
that will fly the way they fly
throughout their infinite being.

you do not know where they come from.
you are insistent to know where they come from.
you dig holes in dirt and in sand searching for
solutions, never to find them.
you are searching for impossibilities.

choose to allow this, or choose to be among
the baobab trees and bats
who are menacing at most.

they know you well, and serve as your
if you do not trust this, it will be so
that you will slide down one of the many holes you've dug into the earth.

you will perhaps come out one day
to wander the earth living on guttural resentments.

you must trust the earth. if you do not trust
the earth, you will continue to fall backward, unable to understand
that what it is you are falling into
is dirt.

you are the drawing and the release.
pull back and know the wildness of the action of breathing.

you are among the birthplace of every tree and flower.

please be careful. you are not what you want.
do not let this distract or engulf you.
realize you are a great distance from your truth
yet to be embraced. you seem to be alone

without the guidance of misleading light.
do what you can to strengthen this into an interpreted beauty.

you are a weapon as you do not give from the light within you.
you guard it, trusting no one.
you are to protect wisdom without realizing it.
you will bathe deeply in the faith unsurfaced.

this is where the great, dark baobabs and their many bats birthed.

the perfect body is an empty space, neither rejecting loss or accepting of gain. we gather to hound it, pulling its mouth open.
you are an empty space. if you choose not to trust this, you will lose sight
of your own appearance.

the body is vehicular for the phantom inside of lost realizations, dismissing
of how to pull action to its physicality endured.
the phantom seeks to go places existing, hunting for strength
to discover worlds imagined.

a burden stares itself down.

when action becomes tiring, one settles inside indefatigable thought,
meandering lost paths
without realization of such doing.

upon your journey of continuous misunderstanding,
a clearing is happened upon.
realize this.
the time has come for you to surrender to a possibility of trust, and
to move forward.
throughout your action of karma, never
has a trap been set to sabotage your experience.

it is the ability of your choosing which you grow intimacy with
as the body heals itself for a concentration.

a war continues. this war and the violence
it has taught you is all that is left that you believe
you are inferior to.
you are ready to learn all ultimate giving your diseases have led to teach you.
you know you have not been sent for.
know your existence is silence and chaos- sometimes soothing and slowed, at other times, rapid and frightening. know this is the war.
know this you fear to be without.

you allow the gathering of unspoken truths to
contain us, instead
of moving you forward toward a resurrection
as a wildflower.

you've been up all night wondering
as well as refuting this wondering.
you wonder what to do
in order to to do what light does to harm
as well as to help.
dismissively, you believe there is no possibility
for understanding.

very soon you will become overwhelmed.

i've given you the power you seek.
it has reflected its light on the trees trapped in dance.
the power is from the tooth of a dying shark found on your journeys
who had seduced you, then
bitten your hand off
which was to be sealed with layers of your mucus.

the head of that great shark you had pulled off
you carry over your own.

seeking food, you traverse
the same path of the woods nearest you
over and over, yet triumphantly so.
there is nothing your power has to do with anyone else.
it seeks only itself.

you will impale yourself with images that will not lead you farther.
you will seem to die, then wake up, saved by someone reacting to their fear with passivity.
you eat them, carelessly.
none of this will end until you put a stop to it.

your blood is dripping into a pool before you.
blown into space, you find yourself unable to touch pods of enlightenment although you will never stop trying.
you have become sickness.
you fail to find.
you have finally found a hole. touching it, nurturing it, and
tumbling into it, it is never to be known
what you do